Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The barge creaks, rocking gently by the wharf as the darkness deepens. Lights appear in the windows of the houses, and at the top of the tower, a fire is lit, illuminating the island.
But the brightest light is the Pillar in the distance, casting everything in shades of blue and gray, throwing out shadows and humming like a melody in the marrow of my bones.
The barges thump gently against the rocks of the wharf, the planks groan and moan, people talk and laugh as they prepare for sleep in the holds and on the decks. The cages jammed full of humans gleam on the barges behind us. The light of the Pillar and the beacon show bodies and faces pressed against the dark, nightgold bars.
Tomorrow.
The Sea Palace Island and its twin are also illuminated, the arching bridge faintly glowing. Music wafts over the waves to us. It sounds like a ball is in progress on the big terrace and inside the rich halls. Fires have been lit on the islets forming the arena, its circular shape clearer than ever, burning against the dark sea.
That’s where we’re going tomorrow.
This is it.
Try or fail.
Everything up to now has been in preparation for this.
The deck creaks with steps. The guards are still moving back and forth, settling in for the night. Some of them patrol along the barge with their spears ready, keeping watch, while others have already curled up near the center of the boat to catch some winks, and yet some others are playing Dice and Dragons. It’s a favorite game among the fae, a game of numbers and colors relying on luck, memory, and skill born of experience.
Like many things in life, I suppose.
I’m chewing on a piece of jerky a guard threw at me as if I were a dog, my stomach already hollow with hunger, when a few softly spoken words catch my attention, and I forget all about my hunger.
“The prophecy says he will not fall by a human hand,” the guard is saying, “nor a living hand.”
“Prophecies are a load of crap.” This one is another female guard. She shakes her head as she tosses the dice. “Good throw!”
Not so many women in the fae army, it seems, which makes sense, seeing how few their females are and how few new fae are born. You can’t risk such valuable assets, can you?
I’ve heard stories of how badly they treat their women. The fae are such bastards. Are those stories true, or is my prejudice against them showing much? They are beautiful, and so much stronger and magical than humans, but also so much crueler, as history has shown us.
“The prophecy is a lot more complex than that,” the other guard, a man, argues. “The part about him not being felled by a living hand has to be allegorical. Prophecies aren’t meant to be taken literally.”
“There is a part about a fallen god?—”
“Eosphor.” The man’s voice finally registers, and I realize it’s Arkin. “An Eosphor, Neere.”
“Those glowing, winged creatures living in the sky,” she mutters. “I know. They keep falling through the cracks of other worlds, they say.”
“Be that as it may.”
“And the bit about a dead soul?”
“Like I said, it’s complex. Some fae scholars have been studying it for all their long lives. What chance do we have of figuring it out?”
“Ark…”
He lifts a hand to her cheek, and a burn starts in my neck. Quickly, I avert my gaze, feeling as if I’ve intruded on a personal moment. Maybe fraternizing between guards is not an issue here. I wouldn’t know the rules for the Royal Guard.
The ache in my chest, that hollow feeling I thought I’d gotten used to by now, spreads through me as she smiles at him.
Sometimes I feel so… alone.
But an arrow racing for its target cannot feel alone. Its only purpose is to strike, and strike true.
Speaking of true…
“He’s asleep.” Tru makes his way to them. “Finally.”
“You tucked the great Athdara in for the night?” Neere asks, the smile lingering in her voice. “Sang him a lullaby to sleep?”
“What if I did?”
I realize they are friends. Most guards seem to share a feeling of camaraderie, which makes sense, but these three fae seem closer than most.
Tru’s shrewd gaze then fixes on me. There goes my invisibility charm. “Human lady. I hadn’t seen you in the dark.”
I make a vague gesture in the direction he came from and wag my brows.
“Are you… asking about Athdara?” he mutters, a brow lifting.
He saw this just fine, didn’t he? I shrug a little. Any information is welcome at this point.
“He’ll be okay,” Tru says.
That asks more questions than it answers, and I frown. It implies that he wasn’t okay earlier, and screw him. Why does he get to be tucked into bed when I was the target of his ill temper earlier?
“I know what you’re going to ask,” Neere says, rattling the dice in her hand. “Why is everyone waiting for Athdara to risk his life for them?”
I shrug. It had crossed my mind, though it wasn’t what I’d wanted to ask.
But I’m annoyed, so I tap the side of my head and twirl my finger.
“Yes, it’s because he’s a crazy bastard,” Arkin agrees with a grin. “No sense of self-preservation. As you’ve seen. And an asshole, to boot.”
“Shut up, Ark,” Tru mutters. “Don’t be such an ass.”
I make a questioning gesture at Tru. What about the way Athdara treated him earlier?
“Tru thinks Athdara can be saved,” Arkin says.
Frustrated, I make another questioning gesture. From what?
“From himself,” Tru says. “I thought that much was obvious.”
Was it?
“You can’t save people who don’t want to be saved,” Arkin says, “am I right, human lady? You can’t change people.”
“You know what torments him,” True snaps. “So don’t act as if it’s his fault.”
“How do we know it isn’t?”
“Men.” Neere sighs. “Relax. Nobody is saving anyone.”
Torment? I wave a hand to get Tru’s attention.
“Don’t go looking for excuses for his assholery,” Arkin mutters, scowling at his friend. “Let’s be honest here. He’s a prick.”
“You don’t know?—”
“I know enough to tell you this: stop trying to save people, Tru. And stop trying to save the king’s champion. You know his latest evil deed.” Catching my look, he says, “The number of sacrifices has doubled this year.”
I jerk. What in the world? I gesture, Why?
“It’s been three hundred years since the last Reversal. I suppose he wanted a grandiose event.”
“You should be cowering in one of the human towns, not showing your face during the biggest games of the last hundred fucking years.”
How many are the victims? Is the number of sacrifices fixed? I count on my fingers and shake my hand at him. Is it?
“Twelve. Normally, we sacrifice twelve. This year, twenty-four.”
Bile rises in my throat. Twenty-four people are being sent to their deaths for a spectacle. For a celebration that requires blood and gore.
For a king of tricks and lies, a scion of tragedy, a glutton for pain and suffering.
Twenty-four.
My teeth are gritting together, an ache traveling up my jaw, and when I realize it, I force myself to relax.
They don’t just throw the humans into the sea arena. It won’t be as simple as that. The numbers matter. Glancing back at the gleaming cages on the barges of the convoy, I wonder whose place I will take and how.
I mime wearing a crown, then tap my chest and point at them.
“Is she asking if we will meet the king?” Arkin doubles over laughing. “Are you seriously asking, lady?”
“Gods, she’s a pest.” Neere casts me a narrow look. “You’ll never meet him… lady ?”
Rae , I form the word. Rae.
“Her name is Rae,” Arkin says.
“Fine. Rae.” Neere shrugs. “Only fae nobility will catch a glimpse of him.”
“And the human winners of each round,” Tru supplies, confirming what I know.
“Yes, them, too, for all the good it will do them. Oh, they’ve tried to kill the king so many times, stupid creatures. Only magic can harm the king, and nobody with magic is allowed near him.”
“Except for Athdara,” Arkin says. “But he’d never harm the king.”
Why? I gesture. Why not?
What is his connection to the king? Is he fae royalty? Is he a fanatical believer in the king’s power and righteousness? It’s funny how I’m asking all these questions as if hoping for a negative answer, as if somewhere deep inside I don’t want to believe it.
What is wrong with me? A fae who serves the king, collecting his sacrificial victims and meting out royal justice, a fae who asked for double the victims this year can’t be a good person. Does he enjoy it? Does the humans’ pain give him pleasure? How twisted is he?
“Beware of beauty.”
But they stop paying attention to me, distracted with the food Tru has brought. And the truth is, when he gives me some bread and hard cheese, I’m distracted, too.
Food shouldn’t be my main concern, but my mind keeps shying away from the thought that the games start tomorrow, and everything hinges on what will happen in that arena.
That’s not enough time for mistakes and blunders. Every step you take has to be right.
“To answer your earlier question,” Tru says later, “the king is rarely seen in public. We all answer to his prelate, the telchin. Only Athdara meets him on the regular.”
Why? I point at the draks, shadows flying against the Pillar, and the wandering Eosphors clinging to the sky, burning bright. Then I point at the royal crest and point up where the Great Dara are surely flying. Why?
“The fire element. Calling dragons is fire magic. Athdara is the only one known to possess it in the entire world right now, and the king needs him.”
“We, fae, control the earth and the air,” Tru says, and I nod, waving for him to explain. “And by we, I mean the highborn, the High Fae. Magic is scarce in this world. Dragons control fire, and the merfolk control the water. In this world, we’re… outnumbered and outmatched.”
“But the king wants those powers, those elements under his control, too,” Arkin mutters. “Or else we are among foes. He wants to control the fire and water, but also the shadows and the dragons. He wants to have power over the gates between worlds. This world wasn’t ours to begin with. We’re not made for it, and it isn’t made for us. We have to mold it to our needs.”
I scowl at the glowing palace.
He says it so matter-of-factly. For the fae, it’s a done fact. Conquer a new world. Mold it to your needs. Display on your coat of arms the creatures you most want to control.
“You’re glaring, but you humans are ones to talk,” Neere says. “You have old legends of coming through the cracks in the sky from other worlds. You were conquerors before us. The seafolk owned this world before you.”
So what if we were , I want to growl. That doesn’t excuse what you did.
“But they managed to live side by side until we arrived,” Tru says.
“You can paint the humanfolk as lovely people all you want, and perhaps they are,” Arkin argues. “But the history of the Nine Worlds is a history of violent conquests and people movements not only during Reversals, but also throughout time. Whenever a natural disaster strikes or an adventurer offers riches and glory, armies and peoples mobilize and move into new territories.”
“You are telling me that our invasion was a natural thing?” Tru mutters.
“Tru, mind your words,” Arkin breathes, glancing around. “Anyone could hear you. Speaking in favor of humanfolk is treason. And who says natural is good? People, be they human, fae, seafolk, dragonfolk or other, they will always look for their own interests and fuck the rest.”
Tru grunts. Without his helmet, his pale hair blows in the wind, making him look very young. A trick of his race, of course. He could be hundreds of years old and still look like a young man. With the fae, nothing is what it seems.
And why are they indulging my curiosity? Why are these fae so nice to me?
Why does it make my chest ache with that hollowness again?
They are friends. They are a family. They have each other. It has nothing to do with me. So what if I have no one? It’s why I am here. No one will miss me.
It’s best this way.
I shouldn’t be thinking of the boy I once loved. Mars. The Jackal. What a ridiculous nickname. “Mad like a jackal,” Arkin had said about Athdara. But Mars has been in my thoughts a lot lately. It’s the dragons. He loved them so much.
Until the riders came on those same dragons and took him.
It’s been… years. Many years. I can’t even fathom how long. Who knows if he was killed instantly or left to rot inside a dungeon until only his bones remained?
Either way, now he’s dead.
And I’m too late for anything but vengeance.